


Noel

by CutiePie4173



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Multi, Reader-Insert, Religious Discussion, Self-Insert, Some LND References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CutiePie4173/pseuds/CutiePie4173
Summary: A gender-neutral Erik x Reader fluff fic. Just something cute I've been batting around in my head for a few days.You're the heir to an amusement park owner's fortune, and Erik has gotten a winter job as his assistant. The two of you have been friends for a few months now, but the hectic season has just kept getting in the way...
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Noel

Winter had come, no doubt of it. The chill of the harsh wind crept through the cracks in every window, and the fires were stoked constantly to keep the nipping air at bay. The days were getting shorter - though they were often so gray during the light hours that it barely made a difference. Even the opulence of the manor wasn't enough to keep back the gloom held by the frozen months.

Although Erik and the Giry's had only arrived three short months before, they had fallen into their roles at the manor rather quickly. It was as if they had always been there, scuttling through the servants passages and muttering pleasantries as they passed by. Madame Giry was taking the place of the head housekeeper, who had fallen ill with fever and would likely be retiring in her old age. Meg had taken up the rather hectic position of nanny to your cousins - not that the children were wicked in any sense, but there were four of them and were quite mischievous. And then there was Erik, shadowing your father as his valet and assistant for the off-season. He had proven himself quite the renaissance man - secretary, valet, assistant - and your father had taken a liking to him, regardless of his strange tendencies.

December, in particular, was always an energetic and chaotic month. Between family coming to stay and the harsh snow wreaking havoc on the grounds, there was never quite a quiet moment anywhere, no matter the hour. You hadn't even gotten time to take tea with Erik and the Giry's like you had when they had first arrived, much to your dismay. It seemed not long ago that you would stay up until sunrise around a bonfire, drinking and spinning stories beside the ocean. The amusement park seemed so far away from the solitary structure of the manor. No, your days of pretending to be a proper member of society were dragging ever slowly by and you were exhausted by them. Springtime could not come soon enough.

And now it was Christmas Eve. Usually, you were excited by the prospect of tomorrow. Family breakfast of sweets, gifts exchanging hands, a sleigh ride through the grounds... None of it felt the same somehow. Perhaps it was childhood finally dying, hard as you tried to keep it alive. No, twenty-one Christmases was enough for anyone to enjoy. Soon you'd be expected to host the annual Christmas ball rather than attend and enjoy it. It'd be improper for you to show any joy at all for the holiday. And soon, you were sure, your days at your summer oasis were over...

A rap at your door shook you from your thoughts. You did your best to cover your melancholy as you called out for whoever it was to enter. Slowly, the door opened, and Erik stood in the doorway, a dusting of snow on his shoulders.

"It's freezing out tonight," he reported simply, in his rich monotone.

You stood, approaching to dust the white powder from his coat. "And what, pray tell, were you doing outside?" you scolded playfully.

A smile cracked through his thin lips. "A certain young man through a certain stuffed rabbit from the window and I wasn't about to allow Meg to go into the cold."

Something about his soft amusement always broke through any sadness. It was rare to see Erik showing any emotion at all, albeit positive ones. You smiled back. "You're a good man, Erik. Come in, warm yourself. I have the fire going."

"Are you sure you want me to be seen going into your room so late at night?" he asked, walking past anyway and sitting on the small settee at the end of your four-poster bed. "The scandal of it all. The servants will talk - having a masked man in your bedroom..." He clucked teasingly, gratefully warming his hands by the fire.

You took a moment to appreciate the scene before you. Erik, dressed in the suit you had procured for him on his first day in Albany, with his gloves and top hat beside him, looking incredibly pleased with himself. He was so catlike at times, between the golden shine of his eyes and the languid movements of his gangly limbs. You sat back at your desk beside the fire, staring into the flames. You enjoyed the silent company at times. It was an art that very few seemed to appreciate anymore, and Erik was an excellent practitioner of it.

"Erik, I have something for you," you said quietly, the words twisting around the room like smoke.

His head tilted towards you, head cocking to one side, not unlike your father's prized bloodhound. "For me? Why?"

"Because it's Christmas," you replied. "Because... Well, we are friends, aren't we?" You twisted your fingers in your lap, pretending not to be nervous about the idea of giving Erik a gift. Sure, you had assumed that the two of you were close, given all the hours you had spent together... But then, you had never quite used the word before.

He was quiet for an unnerving moment, before nodding slowly. "Yes... I suppose we are. I'm not sure..." he trailed off a moment, as if deciding whether he should speak or merely think. "I'm not sure I've ever really had a friend in the traditional sense before."

You blinked. "Never?"

He shrugged, sinking back onto the small couch. "Companions. Mentors. Peers, sure. I thought I had a friend once, but I'm not sure if I was a very good friend to her. There have been a handful of important people in my life that some may have called my friends, but I'm not sure... They didn't feel like this."

You suppressed the redness in your face at the implication. Never felt like... what? Did he feel something towards you? You felt the siren's call of the deep vortex of thought that that could lead to, but resisted. You had to stay present - this was about him and his gift! "Well, we are friends. And you've been a good one to me, so I wanted to surprise you with a Christmas gift."

You stood and offered a hand to him, which his briefly took as he stood. Without his customary gloves, you could feel the chill of his hand in yours. Was he really so freezing? Like the hand of a corpse... If it weren't for the fire that sparked and smoked in his eyes, you would have sworn the man had risen from the nearby graveyard. He had far more life in him than most of the rounder, more red-cheeked occupants of the house, however. So if the occupants of the underworld were all like Erik, you prayed that perhaps your time would come sooner rather than later. His hands slipped from yours as quickly as he had taken it, turning his face from yours. Sure, it wasn't precisely proper to touch a servant that way... But then, nothing about you had ever been proper.

You lead him through the maze of hallways and corridors of the manor, a path so familiar to you. Growing up in this house had a few advantages beyond the value of coin - one of which was privacy. Eventually, you lead him down into the East Wing, far from your sleeping family, and into a spare room. The room was devoid of life completely - the fireplace was dark and soot-filled, the windows frosted, the furniture cloaked in white sheets to keep the dust off. Erik followed you gingerly, careful not to touch anything. A normal person would have protested, you imagined. They would have asked questions or said something predictable or stupid. No, Erik stood silently as he watched you, his expression between bemused and suspicious. 

You approached one of the sheets and smiled at him brightly before tearing the sheet from its place. There, beneath it, slept an ornate spinet. The light and dark woods complimented each other beautifully, and delicate carvings of plants and flowers wound up both sides. The ivory was polished to a shine and even the bench was perfectly stained.

"Merry Christmas!" you offered excitedly, gesturing to the grand instrument.

Erik stood stock-still, expression unreadable beneath the mask.

"Well?" you goaded. "I found this piano for you! I got it tuned up just last week and father says you can play any time you'd like down here. No one will bother you if you don't want an audience..." He still said nothing, and your expression deflated. "Do... do you like it?"

Another beat of anxiety-inducing silence. And then a quiet, "Thank you." He moved forward, sitting on the bench and staring down at the keys with reverence. "I... I've never received a gift before. None that ever had as much thought as this one. Thank you." His voice, usually clear and melodic, was tight and clipped. He almost sounded... emotional? 

You hid a smile behind your hand. "Well? Play something?"

Erik ran his long fingers over the keys, as if stroking a piece of the finest silk. His lips turned up into a smile, a genuine smile as he pressed down his right ring finger and the piano let out a soft, solid sound. Inhaling deeply, the rest of his fingers joined in, and slowly, a melody began to form.

"Minuit, chrétiens, c'est l'heure solennelle,  
Où l'Homme Dieu descendit jusqu'à nous  
Pour effacer la tache originelle  
Et de Son Père arrêter le courroux.  
Le monde entier tressaille d'espérance  
En cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.  
Peuple à genoux, attends ta délivrance.  
Noël, Noël, voici le Rédempteur,  
Noël, Noël, voici le Rédempteur!"

You stood in silence, watching how he swayed into every movement, fingers dancing so gracefully across the keys. Such powerful notes flowed from his pale, slender throat as he sand, causing you to lightly clutch at your chest. You'd heard this carol a thousand times - Why did it sound so different when he was the one singing? Before you could stop yourself, you placed a hand on the back of the small piano, leaning in closer as if to feel the music itself. It wound around you like a thick blanket, and you could feel the reverberations of the piano deep in your chest. You knew he was a talented musician, from the drunken little songs you'd sing by the bonfire, but this was something else entirely.

He finished the chorus and his hands rested on the keys, long fingers stretching across the ivory. He was barely more flesh-toned than the bleached white of the keys. You couldn't even smile as the words dropped from your lips: "I didn't know you could play like that."

His head tilted up and he opened his cat-like eyes. "I've been playing since childhood. Music is the only thing that brings me solace in an unforgiving world. It's the only thing that cares not for what you look like, only what you feel." He did not smile either, only stared into you, as if searching for a truth behind your expression.

You felt yourself burning under his stare. "I didn't know you were Christian either," you managed, unable to look away.

He shook his head slowly, breaking the stare as he looked down. "I'm not," he started. "As a child, I lived down the street from a small chapel. I never attended, due to..." he trailed off a moment. "Anyway, I heard these songs every year at Christmas. The organ that they had rang through the hills and valleys, and on quiet nights I could hear the church-goers singing. It was then that I fell in love with music. I fell in love with the feelings that music gave to me, like a secret gift that was only mine. No, I am not Christian, but one cannot deny the beauty of a hymn or carol from time to time."

He spoke with such respect and reverence, as if he were the Cardinal of his own religion. A religion based on music and love and feeling, not petty books or history. Erik was, in his own way, a prophet to a world formerly unknown to you. But that little glance into his head, that small song he had gifted to you, was a hint at what he could create. The piano was a better gift than you had anticipated.

You smiled finally. "I'm glad you like it, Erik."

He managed a small smile back at you. "Thank you. Again, thank you. I only wish I had something to give to you. We are friends, are we not?"

You shook your head. "Please. That song was gift enough. You play so beautifully..."

He shrugged. "At one point, I believed myself the world's best composer. I thought I but all the greats to shame! But after... After something happened, I had to take a step back and realize that I am only as good as my worst pieces, as only as charming as my foulest of moods. So no, I do not think I play beautifully... I could one day, I suppose."

You frowned. "Erik, you have talent. A real ear for music, like nothing I've ever heard."

Erik paused a long while in thought, then met your eyes again. "Then I shall play for you any time you'd like. Consider that my gift, if you like it so much. I rather miss having an audience..." He stared again, almost past you to the opposite wall, and cleared his throat. "Would you... like to sit? I can still play, and I do tend to ramble when I play my own pieces..."

You brightened and quickly scrambled around the piano, smoothing out your clothes as you sat beside him, careful to keep a few inches between you. Even so, you could smell the bittersweet scent of his cologne and trace every button of his jacket with your eyes. You had rarely been so close to him before, but it was well-worth a wait. No, you had never seen beneath the mask, but you didn't really want to. Erik had described the horror before, and you could befriend someone without a face. No, his voice made up for his lack of a face, made up for it a hundred times over.

He started to play again, this time a song you didn't quite recognize. His fingers danced and bounced off the keys, fluttering up and down in little trills between the sweeping refrains. He was... He was making it up. Just improvising. You saw it in the way his eyes half-lidded and his head occasionally swept to one side or the other. And this was somehow even better than the hymn. You could feel the different emotions, as if he was letting you inside his head for those few minutes. Sorrow, comfort, warmth, lightness... He was happy here. Here, in this dark and freezing room, with barely any light besides the full moon peaking out between the gray clouds. 

Softly, without even noticing it, your head brushed his shoulder. His playing stuttered, but he quickly recovered, his music becoming more fast-paced and ringing. You would have warned him to not play so loud, but you couldn't bring yourself to correct him. At first, you nearly jumped away from the cloth of his suit when you realized what you had done, but gingerly settled in. During a pause in the music, you felt his breathing shudder unevenly, which he quickly covered with more music. If he had any objection to the small gesture, he did not show it. And so the two of you sat, for hours, perhaps days, with him playing music and with you listening there.

Eventually, however, all quiet nights are interrupted by garish mornings. The clouds had vanished like smoke, leaving the sky to turn a soft purple, pink and blue in the early morning hours. You hadn't quite fallen asleep nestled into his shoulder - more been entranced as he played. The light crept in through the frosted windows, suddenly alerting both of you. Christmas Morning.

You slowly, unwillingly, sat straight again. His suit had warmed from where you had been cuddled, a contrast to the frigid morning air. He sighed solemnly, closing the cover over the keys. He stroked over the piano once more with his slender fingers before inhaling deeply and standing. "I believe we should be getting back. Your maid will think me a scoundrel if you are not back in bed before morning call."

You smiled sleepily and took his hand, any notion of inappropriateness tossed from your thoughts. No, the only thing that mattered was the soft lightness in your chest as the two of you walked back to your room. This part of the house was still quiet, but you could hear the soft snores and rustling of your family in their beds, the sounds of some servants waking and doing their morning routines down the hall. You frowned softly as you stood in the doorway of your bedroom, looking back at Erik. He had let go of your hand, preferring to fidget with the signet ring he wore.

"I suppose I should wish you a good night, though the sun is due up any minute now," he offered, looking down.

"I suppose you should," you replied quietly, eyes traveling everywhere but his masked face or his golden eyes. After a magical night like this one, listening to him play such winding melodies by moonlight, how could you let it end here? With an awkward conversation and farewell? Were you supposed to go back to how things were, with just pleasantries and nods and watching him shadow your father?

He cleared his throat. "I suppose... I suppose I could have a gift for you. If you'd want it."

Your eyes met his in confusion. "Gift?"

It was hard to see in the dim light, but you could swear the tips of his ears turned pink. He stammered, "I just... I... Thank you. Not just for the gift, but for spending time with me. For letting me play for you. I... haven't gotten to do that in a long time."

You smiled, but it faded as he took your hand in his. He watched you carefully, as if to gauge your reaction. Slowly, as if he was afraid, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed the smallest, softest of kisses to your hand. Your froze, somewhere between joy and awe. Such a simple little action, but his body language made it feel so important and gracious. You caught the smile he attempted to hide as he let your hand fall from his own. 

"I best... Be getting back to my room..." he muttered, glancing down the hallway.

You smiled brightly and nodded, suppressing a laugh. "Yes, I suppose so. But one last thing, Erik."

He cocked his head towards you again, that sweet expression of suspicious confusion on his face. Quickly, before the anxiety could convince you otherwise, you stood on your toes and pressed your lips to the sliver of his cheek beside his lips. It was soft and cold, exactly as you had expected. He gasped, eyes wide as you settled back onto your feet. His mouth gaped, as if searching for words, but found none. He began to stutter, but your giggle stopped him. You reached back for your door, and just before it closed, offered only a few words:

"Merry Christmas, Erik."


End file.
